


Clear Blue Morning

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Series: Clear Blue Morning [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Hockey Player!Sid, Kid Fic, M/M, Single Dad!Geno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:49:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: Zhenya is re-looping the hair elastic around Alina's braid when he becomes aware there’s someone standing in the doorway. He glances up, and his hands freeze in place.Sidney fucking Crosby is standing there, looking hesitant, with a half-empty water bottle dangling from one hand.





	Clear Blue Morning

 

 

 

Zhenya worries about Alina, of course he does. He tries to rein it in, keep her from knowing how afraid he is for her, all the time. His fierce little girl, thick accent and thick glasses, hair perpetually frizzing out of the braids he can’t seem to perfect, no matter how hard he tries. He wonders constantly if he did the right thing, immigrating to the United States. Taking her away from her grandparents, to a place where her classmates giggle at the way she garbles her English syntax when she’s emotional. 

But she always surprises him with her strength. The day he gets called away from work to pick her up, bloody-nosed, from the school office for fighting, he’s furious at first. 

“ _ But Papa! _ ” she’d explained. “ _ Trevor was teasing Lan for the way she talks! She’s only been here since the beginning of the year and she’s having even more trouble with English than I am!”   _

_ “So you punched him? _ ” Zhenya asked. 

_ “Well, he pushed me first, _ ” Alina replies. Zhenya straightens and glares at the snot-nosed little boy in question, then levels his gaze at the boy’s mother. 

“You need] do something about your son,” he tells her, as her mouth flaps in shock like a fish’s. “Or he be racist man who hit women instead of nasty little boy who still maybe can learn.” 

 

And then he takes his daughter out for ice cream. 

 

***

 

So yes, he worries. But he’s proud of her. She’s been so brave and so good during this entire tumultuous time in their lives. So when she turns, starry-eyed, from the TV where the Pens are destroying the Flyers and asks, _“Papa, do girls get to play hockey too?_ ” well. What’s a father to do? 

 

***

 

He doesn’t have the money for hockey gear, or skates. But he manages to scrounge up a couple of used sticks and a road hockey puck, and they play on the tennis courts at the park. Alina loves it, and she’s good. She’s only seven, but he can see the potential there, the deep love of the game. He aches to give her everything she wants. He saves a little here and there, and they go to some public skates at the closest rink. The rental skates are terrible and his knee aches in protest if he does anything too extreme, but he can grit his teeth through it to teach his little girl to skate. She’s fearless in this too. 

He confesses some of the situation to a co-worker in a fit of frustration. It’s the worst feeling in the world, being unable to give Alina something she wants so desperately. 

“You know,” his coworker says. “You should look into the Little Penguins Learn To Play Hockey program. You gotta have your kid registered in classes so they learn to use it properly,  but the gear’s free.”

Zhenya almost can’t believe it, but when he looks at the website, it's true. Everything she would need, including skates. He could cry. 

He knows there’s no guarantee Alina will be selected, but at the wages he makes, this is their only option. 

 

***

 

She gets in. There’s a lot of happy screaming and a little bit of crying in the Malkin household when they find out. They get vanilla milkshakes from McDonalds to celebrate and Alina floats around in a fog of happiness for days. 

The next time the Pens are on TV Alina is adamant. 

_ “We need to watch Sidney Crosby and cheer really loud for him, _ ” she says. “ _ Because he’s giving me my hockey skates.”  _

Zhenya feels like trying to explain the nuances of charitable programs, and their multimillionaire athlete donors’ disconnect from them, would take the shine off of things a little. So he keeps his peace. 

 

***

 

The day they register and receive the gear is like every birthday Alina’s ever had, rolled into one. She strokes the 87 on the Little Penguins jersey with reverence, and to Zhenya’s concern, great big tears start rolling down her face. Before he can say anything, she’s tugging on the sleeve of one of the the Dick’s Sporting Goods employees who’s helping to distribute the gear. 

“Can you tell Mr. Crosby thank you? Thank you for my hockey?” she hiccups, before burying her face into the jersey, overcome. The woman smiles sympathetically. 

“Sure, sweetie,” she answers, and Zhenya mouths a “thank you” at her over Alina’s head. The women has probably never met Crosby in person and probably never will. 

 

***

 

Alina takes as well to hockey as Zhenya expected. She’s fierce and passionate, just like he used to be when he played. He laughs hard at her crestfallen expression when he tells her that there’s no checking allowed in girls’ and women’s hockey.  _ “But how will I protect my teammates? _ ” she asks. His little Valkyrie.

_ “Avenge them by scoring _ ,” he says, and her eyes glitter in acknowledgement. 

 

***

 

Her love for Sidney Crosby grows by leaps and bounds as well. They watch every Pens game they can. He probably lets her stay up way too late for the West Coast games. Zhenya can’t blame her, though. He’s been in love with Crosby’s beautiful hockey himself for a long time now. They yell at the TV when he gets checked, cheer when he scores, and they shout and hug and dance with joy when the Pens beat the Sharks and win the Cup. 

All of Zhenya’s extra money goes to pay for Alina’s hockey fees, and so he can’t afford to get her much in the way of Pens merch. But he buys her a commemorative poster of the Stanley Cup win for her birthday, and they painstakingly collaborate on decorating one of her shirts with yellow and black fabric paint. Mostly to give her something Pens related to wear besides her Little Penguins jersey, which she would, and sometimes even does, sleep in when Zhenya lets her. 

 

***

 

She barrels into him after hockey practice one day, pink-cheeked and manic-looking. 

“ _ PAPA _ !” she screams. 

Zhenya expects some catastrophe but instead Alina informs him she’s found out that Sidney Crosby is going to be holding a signing at one of the local sporting goods stores that participates in the Little Penguins program. Zhenya is skeptical, because it’s never the stars at community events like this one. But, to his surprise, it checks out. 

He tries to temper Alina’s enthusiasm a little. There’s probably going to be a horrendously long line, way more people than there will be time for. And he’s not going to be able to get off of work early. They’re going to get there after it’s started, and there will probably be people in line hours before. But she won’t be deterred. 

_ “We have to try, Papa, _ ” she says. “ _ We have to _ .” And Zhenya is nothing if not a pushover when it comes to his child. He’ll stand in line for an hour or two with her, and then he’ll buy her a new pair of skate laces in lurid neon colors to try and ease her disappointment afterwards. 

 

***

 

At first, everything goes much as Zhenya expected. They arrive to an enormous line snaking around the entire building, and he finally hunts down the end of it with a sigh. At this rate, he doubts they’ll even make it inside. Alina is buzzing with excitement, smoothing down her Little Penguins jersey over and over. 

 

***

 

The afternoon wears on. They’ve been there ages when they finally make it to the doors of the store. It’s one of those huge warehouse-like ones, and the line weaves up and down all of the aisles. Alina takes one look at it, and droops. 

“Oh,” she says, soft, and small. Zhenya’s suddenly furious with himself for letting her get her hopes up. 

“ _ Come on, Alinochka _ ,” he tells her, as gently as he can. She nods, and takes his hand. 

“ _ We tried, though, right? _ ” 

“ _ That’s right, _ ” he says, smoothing down her frizzy hair and feeling love and pride well up in him. 

On the way out of the store, they run into a smartly-dressed women just finishing a call on a cellphone. Sharp-eyed Alina zeros in on the lanyard and badge the women is wearing, and lets go of Zhenya’s hand and darts forward before he can stop her.

“Ma’am?” Alina asks, placing herself squarely in front of the women. “We are needing to go, but if you are with Penguins, can you please tell Mr. Crosby thank you for Little Penguins stuff? We were too late for signing but please, can you tell him?” 

The woman gazes down at her, bemused, phone still hovering up by her ear. 

“Alina!” Zhenya says, taking her hand. “Sorry, ma’am.” 

“No, that’s alright.” She’s still looking down at Alina, a thoughtful little smile curling the corners of her mouth. 

“You know— “ She looks up at Zhenya. “How long could you wait here, sir?” 

“Signing over at 6,” Zhenya says, confused. “Too many people in line.” 

“Can you wait here until then?” she asks, funny little smile still in place. “I’m Jen. I’m with the Pens front office. I might be able to save an autographed poster for you.” 

Alina squeals, face aglow. “Papa! Can we?” 

Zhenya frowns. “Not want to make extra trouble for you, ma’am. Very nice, thank you. But we should go.” 

“It’s really no trouble at all,” she says briskly, and motions to the back of the building. “If you have the time to wait until six, I insist!” And before Zhenya is really sure what’s happening, they’re being chivvied through a loading dock door, down a hallway, and to a curtained off area containing a table littered with Gatorade bottles.  Zhenya sinks down on a folding chair, not quite following the flow of chatter Alina is making, telling Jen all about her hockey practice and her gear, and who knows what else. Jen is smiling widely now, nodding seriously along. 

“This, is this okay?” Zhenya interjects, looking around. He can hear the hum of voices beyond their little curtained area, all the people in line. 

Jen smiles reassuringly. “Trust me, it is.” She hands him a business card. 'Jen Bullano,' it reads. 'Penguins Public Relations.' “I’m in charge,” she says, with a casual shrug and another smile. This one has steel behind it and Zhenya is beginning to see that Jen Bullano is a formidable woman indeed. 

“Ok,” he acquiesces, and she nods, satisfied. 

“I’ve got to go take care of a few things, but please wait here, and feel free to help yourself to a Gatorade.” And she clacks off in her important sounding heels. 

Zhenya and Alina look at each other. “Autographed poster!” Alina says gleefully, and sets about choosing a Gatorade flavor. Zhenya shakes his head to himself, wondering how it is they ended up here. 

 

***

 

It’s a long wait. And as excited as Alina is, she’s only seven and her attention span is only so long. She gets fidgety after a while, and Zhenya exasperatedly calls her over from where she’s poking holes in the plastic covering a flat of water bottles. 

 

“ _ Let me fix your hair, sweetheart, _ ” he says, and has her stand between his feet so he can redo her braids. Bored, she prods at his face as he does so and he theatrically pretends to snap his teeth at her fingers. She giggles. 

 

Zhenya is re-looping the hair elastic around a braid when he becomes aware there’s someone standing in the doorway of their little curtained space. He glances up, and his hands freeze in place. 

 

Sidney fucking Crosby is standing there, looking hesitant, with a half-empty water bottle dangling from one hand. 

 

His eyes look luminous this close up. 

 

“Papa?” Alina says, patting his cheek. “ _ What’s wrong _ ?” Then she turns, and gasps, makes a strangled squeal, and yanks the neck of her jersey up over her mouth and nose, like she wants to hide. Zhenya can relate. 

 

There’s an officious clatter of heels, and Ms. Bullano appears behind Sidney Crosby. 

 

“Ah!” She says brightly. “There you are. Sorry I forgot to say, Sid, but I asked this young lady and her father to wait back here. She has something to tell you.” And then she winks at Zhenya. 

“Ah, sure,” Sidney Crosby says, with a tired smile. It’s a lovely one though, and Zhenya feels a little faint.

Zhenya looks down at Alina, who looks back with eyes like saucers. He tilts his head in Sidney Crosby’s direction. 

“Mrs. Jen, you say extra  _ poster _ ,” Alina says, sounding betrayed at being thrust into the presence of her idol without proper mental preparation. Sidney Crosby’s smile widens into a crooked grin. 

“Mrs. Jen, huh,” he says, teasing edge to his voice, as he rolls his eyes at Ms. Bullano and she smirks at him, shrugging. “Want me to sign your jersey?” he asks Alina, uncapping a Sharpie. Alina nods frantically, and scrambles over. She turns and Sidney Crosby scrawls his signature over the number on her back. 

“This looks like a Little Penguins jersey,” he says, and Alina finds her words. 

“I’m play hockey!” She beams at him. “Little Penguins! I’m play center! Like you, Mr. Crosby!” 

Sidney Crosby’s eyes go soft, and his voice is too when he says, “Oh, for sure? That’s awesome.” He’d gotten down on one knee to sign her jersey, and he stays crouched at her eye level, and Zhenya did not need to know how gentle Sidney Crosby sounds when he talks to small children. It’s not going to be good for his peace of mind, he’s afraid. 

Alina takes a deep breath. “Thank you for my skates, Mr. Crosby. And gear and jersey.” 

“You’re welcome,” he says.   
“We thought maybe I could not skate,” she continues, and Zhenya feels a familiar shame burn in his stomach and he wonders if he should stop her from spilling their financial woes to Sidney fucking Crosby. “Papa could not get more shifts. But then I get in Little Penguins!” She seems to remember something. “ _Oh_! Papa!” 

Fuck, Zhenya has time to think, before she’s darted over and is dragging him back, filled with pride at getting to introduce her favorite person to perhaps her second favorite person. “This is my  _ Papa _ ! He play hockey too, before, in Magnitogorsk!” 

“Metallurg?” Sidney Crosby says, shaking Zhenyas hand. 

“Evgeni Malkin,” Zhenya says. “Pleased to meet. Not play for Metallurg long.”

“Papa break knee,” Alina explains, and Sidney Crosby’s eyes fall to the scar tissue visible below the hem of Zhenya’s shorts. He winces.

“That’s tough,” he says, sympathy in his eyes. Zhenya shrugs. 

“Is ok. Alina can be star of family. Better than me.” He tweaks one of her braids.

“I will play in NWHL,” Alina says. “Or maybe in NHL like Manon Re...re…”

“Manon Rhéaume,” Sidney Crosby supplies with a smile. “I’ll look for you at the draft in ten years, eh?” 

“There is checking in NHL,” Alina says seriously. “No checking in hockey for girls. This is stupid.”

Sidney Crosby laughs. “Stupid, huh?”

“I’m want to help teammate,” she explains. “Papa says better to help them by score.” 

“That’s right. Your papa’s smart,” Sidney Crosby says with a smile right at Zhenya. Zhenya feels weak in the knees. 

“Yes,” Alina says decisively. “Most smart.” Then, after a beat, “You are also pretty good, Mr. Crosby.”

“Call me Sidney,” he laughs, meeting Zhenya’s gaze again over Alina’s head. Zhenya feels his face heat up.

“Sorry,” Zhenya says, but Sidney shakes his head.

“She’s got her priorities straight,” he says. 

Zhenya feels compelled to make some kind of conversation, so he volunteers: “Not always easy for her in school. Learn English is hard, sometimes kids mean.”

Sidney's eyes darken. “Yeah. They can be.”

“But hockey, she loves it.” 

Sidney smiles distantly, like he's remembering something. “My mom and I, we used to get up early to deliver the circular. Advertising flyer,” he amends, when Zhenya looks blank. “She and my dad worked so hard to keep me in hockey.” He reaches out briefly, as though to lay his hand on Alina’s head, but he stops himself. 

“I can’t speak for Alina in the future,” he says, looking straight into Zhenya’s eyes. “But I’m thankful everyday for what my parents sacrificed for me.” 

Zhenya swallows. This is Sidney's way, he thinks, of telling Zhenya not to be ashamed about his circumstances. And maybe complimenting him, a bit. He looks down at Alina to compose himself. She’s hanging off of his arm, grinning up at them. 

“Parents always want good future for their kids.” 

“Yeah,” Sidney says softly, and gazes down at Alina. There’s sadness lurking in the corners of his expression, for some reason.

“Should go,” Zhenya says, the strange moment they’re caught in making him speak softly. “Let you rest. Long day.” 

“Yeah,” Sidney says, “It was. But it was good to meet you.” He sounds like he really, really means it, too. 

“Say goodbye,” Zhenya says to Alina, and before he can stop her, she’s thrown her arms around Sidney’s waist.

“Alina!” Zhenya barks, but Sidney shakes his head. His hand hovers in the air for a moment before he lays it on Alina’s head, impossibly tender. His eyes blink closed for a fraction of a second, and Zhenya could swear that sadness he thought he saw earlier shadows his face again. 

“Bye, Mr. Sidney,” she tells him, which makes him laugh. 

“Bye, Alina,” he says, corners of his eyes crinkling. He raises his eyes to Zhenya’s for the space of two heartbeats, and then they’re leaving, chivvied out by Ms. Bullano the same way they came in. 

 

***

 

Outside, Zhenya can hardly believe what just happened, save for the signature scrawled across Alina’s jersey. Ms. Bullano smiles at them both, and takes down Zhenya’s email and cell number, “just in case they need it for PR purposes.” 

“Thank you,” he tells her.

“No need,” she says. “Sid’s been having a rough go of it lately. Scoring slump, stuff like that. I was halfway hoping this event might help raise his spirits. Remind him how much the fans love him. When I met you two, I just knew he had to meet you.”

Zhenya thanks her profusely and leaves with a giddy Alina, certain that will be the end of things. 

 

But he’s wrong.

 

***

 

He’s at Alina’s practice two weeks later, leaning up against the glass, watching his daughter score a breakaway goal, when someone steps up next to him. He glances over, then does a double take. 

It’s Sidney fucking Crosby, with the collar of his coat turned up and a ballcap pulled down low over his eyes. And an embarrassed expression. 

“Hi,” Sidney Crosby says. 

“Hey,” Zhenya says, still not quite sure he’s not hallucinating. 

“Wanted to come see how the program’s doing,” Sidney says, and, are his ears turning red? “It’s a maintenance day, so. I was in the neighborhood.” 

“Okay,” Zhenya says, not sure what else to answer. 

Sidney clears his throat. “So, how are they doing?” And they turn to watch the game, elbow to elbow at the glass.

 

***

 

The kids are being herded into a meandering semblance of a handshake line. As one of the tallest kids, Alina is easy to pick out. Most of the kids stick to half-hearted high-fives. Not Alina. She throws her arms around each opposing player as she comes up to them, leaving them with pats to the helmet. She spends the longest time hugging the last player in line: the goalie. She rocks the tiny boy back and forth on his little skates, leaning back to pat at both sides of his helmet. 

“Oh my god,” Sidney says softly, under his breath. Zhenya laughs.

“I’m tell her when she start to play not to be big jerk when team win. I’m tell her, think about when you lose. That’s how other team is feeling. After that, she start hug everyone. Especially goalie. She like to tell him he do good job, keep try hard.”

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Sidney repeats. He looks a step away from clutching at his chest in response to all the cute. 

Alina skates over to them, arms and stick raised. Zhenya spares a glance for the opposing goalie. He’s swiveled to watch Alina skate away, his mouth dropped open. 

_ “Papa! _ ” Alina shouts. “ _ Did you see me? I made two goals! And two assists!” _

_ “I saw, baby _ ,” Zhenya replies. “Two goals, two assists,” he translates for Sidney. 

“Nice,” Sidney says. “She’s good.” 

“Yeah,” Zhenya says. “I’m worry maybe, I’m push. Because I don’t make it. But it’s all her idea. She love. You know.”

“Yeah, I do,” Sidney says, sounding faraway. 

Alina crashes into the boards in front of them. “Papa!” she cries again. Then, when she spots Sidney, she makes an “eep!” sound and loses her footing and ends up on her butt on the ice. 

“Oh no,“ Sidney says, but Zhenya just laughs. Alina slowly raises herself up, just until her eyes and gloved hands are over the top of the boards. Sidney grins and waves at her. She scrambles to the entrance of the rink and practically falls into Zhenya’s arms as she exits the ice. 

“Easy, easy,” he tells his daughter. He helps her tug her helmet off and walks her over to the side where Sidney’s standing. Her cheeks are red and her hair’s either plastered to her face with sweat or standing up in wispy tufts. 

“Mr. Sidney!” 

“Just Sid is fine,” Sid says, smiling down at her. “Good hustle out there, eh?” 

Alina beams back at him and enthusiastically smacks his hand when he extends it for a high five. 

“You too!” she says. “We see game, last night. You get hat trick! Mrs. Villenula yell at us through wall because we shout so loud at tv!” 

“Oh, for sure?” Sid says, and he grins at both of them, eyes sparkling. Fuck, he’s  _ blushing _ , sweet and pink across his sharp cheekbones, and Zhenya really needs to stop thinking about how he’d like to— 

“But, Sid, why you here?” Alina is asking then.

“Uh, yeah. Well. I had a day off, and. I just. Decided to come see you. The Little Penguins program,” Sid fumbles, and his blush deepens. 

Sid, for some reason, looks up at Zhenya then, something complicated in his expression.. 

“Thanks for come, Sid,” Zhenya says quietly. “Mean a lot.” Sid’s shoulders relax a little, and he tugs the brim of his hat down further over his eyes. 

“You should come to one of mine. Games, I mean. I could get you tickets.” 

Zhenya would have wanted to protest, because what on earth, but Sid’s said it in front of Alina, and she gasps. 

“Real NHL game,” she breathes, in tones of bliss. “Papa? Can we?” 

Zhenya looks at Sid, who looks steadily back at him, cheeks red.

“Why, Sid,” Zhenya has to ask. “What so special about us?” 

“What isn’t?” Sid says, which isn’t really an answer. 

 

***

 

Zhenya half expects  _ that _ to be the end of it, but sure enough, within the week, he gets an email from the Pens ticket office, letting him know he has two tickets to the next home game. He boggles at the seat numbers. He knows numbers that low mean they’re really, really close to the ice. 

Alina is practically catatonic with excitement. She frets about the state of her jersey, making Zhenya wash it by hand, carefully keeping the part with Sid’s signature dry. Zhenya makes a production of theatrically sighing and complaining, but it’s all a front. 

_ “What about you _ , “she says with a gasp at one point. “ _ You don’t have anything! _ ” 

_ “Don’t worry about it, _ “ he tells her, but she’s persistent in her dismay. He eventually has to promise that he’s got something to wear. 

 

***

 

He goes to his bedroom closet, digging around until he finds what he’s looking for, buried deep in the back where he hadn’t needed to look at it. 

He unfolds his old Metallurg jersey for the first time in years, and considers it. His mother had saved it for him, hidden it. He’d probably have burned it otherwise. She’d made him take it when they moved, telling him that even if he didn’t want the reminder, Alina might want it someday. Might like learning about that part of her papa’s past. 

He looks at it and while part of him will always be heartbroken about what could have been, Alina’s joy in hockey softens the hurt. He wants his daughter to be proud of him. And he’s proud, a little, of what he accomplished, a lifetime ago. 

He pulls the jersey on, and Alina screams with excitement when she sees him. 

 

***

 

The seats aren’t just good, they’re right on the damn glass. The atmosphere at the arena is electric, and Zhenya can feel it begin to affect him. Alina, of course, is launched into the stratosphere. She’s so excited about the game and the seats that she can’t even speak. When the players zoom onto the ice for warm ups, she stands on her feet and just screams. They look for Sid, and there his is, stickhandling around one of the on-ice logos, ignoring the other players hurtling around him, the pounding music, the noise of the fans. 

“Sid!” Alina yells, slamming her little hands onto the glass when she sees that Sid’s looked up from his stickhandling. He’s making a slow turn on the ice, eyes sweeping the boards. Zhenya isn’t expecting it, but it almost looks like he sees them. He says something to Letang, who skates over, while Sid continues his routine. Letang grins when he reaches them, and deftly flips Alina a puck. 

“ _ Papa _ ,” she breathes, starry eyed. 

_ “I know _ ,” he answers, feeling just as poleaxed. 

 

***

 

Sid gets a goal and an assist during the first period, and Zhenya finds himself up on his feet with Alina and the rest of the crowd. It’s just such a beautiful game, and he’s never seen his daughter so happy. 

At the end of the game, which they win with a shutout, Sid has two goals and an assist, and is first star of the game. Alina is chattering excitedly to Zhenya when there’s a touch on Zhenya’s elbow. He turns, and someone in an official looking polo shirt and a lanyard is standing in the aisle. 

“Are you Evgeni Malkin?” the man asks, and Zhenya is confused, and irrationally a little frightened that there’s a mistake, that they aren’t supposed to be there. 

“Yes?” he says. 

“Great,” the man says. “Sid wanted me to to snag you before you left. Come on over this way.” 

“Snag?” Zhenya asks, but they’re already being led from their seats and through a door with a key card lock, and then down a series of hallways. They start to hear a hum of voices and to pass various official looking people briskly walking to and fro. They pause outside a set of double doors splashed with the Penguins logo. 

“Wait here,” the man says. There’s a loud rush of noise when he opens the doors. Alina clutches at Zhenya.

_ “That's the locker room! _ ” She stares up at Zhenya, eyes wide. 

There’s another burst of sound as the door is opened again. Sid steps through, making apologies over his shoulder to someone unseen. He’s still in his base layers and his hockey pants, hair curling damply from underneath a disreputable ball cap and his feet jammed into a an ugly pair of slide sandals. He reeks of sweat and his face is flushed. He’s beautiful. 

“Hey!” he says, smiling. “There you are!” He’s mostly looking at Alina, and when he raises his eyes to meet Zhenya’s, they widen. “Whoa. Nice sweater.” 

Zhenya scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Alina tell me I need to wear jersey to game. This is what I have.” 

“Wow,” Sid says, and it’s odd, the way he says it. A little breathless. 

Alina lunges forward and Zhenya grabs her before she can throw her arms around Sid’s waist again. Seriously, he’s going to have to give her another talk about boundaries. 

“Sorry, you’d better not,” Sid says, plucking ruefully at his sodden Under Armour shirt. “I’m really gross right now.” 

“It’s okay,” Alina chirps from where she’s decided to hang off of Zhenya’s restraining arm like a monkey. “I hear Papa tell Uncle Denis on phone that you are most beautiful man he ever see.”

“ALINA,” Zhenya barks, and he covers her mouth with a hand that’s starting to shake. He can feel the red rising in his face and he almost can’t bring himself to look at Sid. 

Whatever he was expecting, a blush and wide, soft eyes weren’t it. “Oh,” Sid says. “Oh, for sure?” And fuck, that’s… hopeful, isn’t it? That’s fucking  _ hope _ . 

He and Sid stare at each other for a moment. Alina is suspiciously still. Zhenya decides to take a risk. 

“Beautiful man, good man. Nice to my kid. Nothing not to love.” Belatedly, he realizes how strongly worded that was and wishes yet again that the English language would die a fiery death. Sid visibly swallows. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and the uncertainty there makes Zhenya want to either reach out and wrap an arm around his shoulders, or to laugh. Honestly. Who wouldn’t adore this man? Besides the godforsaken general population of Philadelphia. 

Zhenya plays it safe and just nods. 

“Get dinner with me,” Sid blurts, arms folded and fingers white where they’re clutching his upper arms. “Please, get dinner with me.” 

“Now?” Zhenya asks, baffled. All of this cannot be happening. 

“Oh god, not now, it’s late, but. Sometime soon?” 

Zhenya pats frantically at his pockets, and extracts his phone with hands that are still unsteady. 

“Wow,” Sid says, looking at the phone. 

Zhenya frowns. “Phone is wow?” 

“No, not the phone, I mean, nevermind.” And his blush turns positively fluorescent. 

“I give you my number,” Zhenya says, deciding to move on. “More safe for you. You can decide if you want to call or not.” 

Sid blinks at him. “That’s...really thoughtful.” 

“Need to keep yourself safe, Sid,” Zhenya chides gently. Then something occurs to him. “You make me sign papers, too. For not speaking.” 

Sid frowns, but then his expression clears. “An NDA?” Zhenya nods. “I think… the fact you’re asking to sign one is proof that it’s not something we need to worry about right now.” 

“Bad habit, Sid,” Zhenya chides, and Sid smiles at him, soft and sweet. 

“You always like this?” 

Zhenya laughs ruefully. “Like, mama chicken? Yes. Sorry.” 

“A mother hen?” Sid says “Yeah. And, don’t be. It’s… nice.” He and Zhenya smile stupidly at each other for a while, until Alina becomes bored and tugs at Sid’s arm. 

“You get three points!” she crows, and Sid smiles down at her. 

“Oh, that reminds me,” he says, and shuffles back over to the door. He sticks his head through to talk to someone, and gets handed something. When he comes back, it’s a puck with a strip of tape around the side with the date written on it. “It’s, ah, the game-winning puck. From my goal in the third.”

Alina shrieks and takes it, starry-eyed again. She grips it with both hands, tight, staring at it like she wants to burn a hole through the rubber. 

“ _ I want one of these, _ ” she says to Zhenya, voice quiet but with iron running through it. “ _ I want to score a goal in the NHL. _ ” 

“She say she want one,” Zhenya translates for Sid. “NHL goal.” 

“A goal, eh?” Sid says. He and Zhenya share a look, acknowledging how difficult it’s going to be for Alina to experience that. “I hope you get one. I really do.” 

“Say thank you to Sid,” Zhenya prompts. 

“ _ Spasibo _ ,” she says to Sid. 

“ _ Pozhaluysta _ ,” he answers. It’s awkward in his mouth, clearly rehearsed. It makes Zhenya’s heart skip a beat. 

“You learn special?” he teases. “For us?”

Sid turns red again. “Yeah.”

They stare at each other, Zhenya with amazement and Sid with embarrassed resolve. 

“Special,” Sid says. And Zhenya doesn’t have the words for what he’s feeling. 

 

***

 

It’s about as difficult to set a time for a date as Zhenya expected. Sid’s schedule, of course, is formidable, and Zhenya is working long hours, picking up shifts wherever he can. They text though, at first just a little, then as the weeks pass, everyday, then multiple times a day. Zhenya can’t believe how comfortable it is, after a while, to text Sid about the coffee place near his work, about the French braids he did for Alina before a game. To get texts back from Sid about practice, what he ate for lunch, the views out of his hotel rooms in various cities. They start texting each other good morning and good night. Sid sends Zhenya a selfie one night. He’s lying back against a pile of hotel pillows, hair soft and thin sleep shirt rumpled. 

“Miss you,” he writes. Zhenya has to get up and pace around for a minute. He tries to take a picture to send back, but the camera on his phone is crap and the harsh fluorescent lights of the break room don’t do him any favors. But he hopes that Sid can see the longing in his expression anyway. 

“Miss you too,” he writes, and presses send. 

 

***

 

Their schedules finally, finally align about a month after they start texting. Zhenya finds a sitter, and frets badly about what he’s going to wear. Sid had promised that it wouldn’t be somewhere too fancy. “Nice,” he’d said. “Nice but you can wear jeans and stuff.” 

Zhenya finally chooses his least ratty jeans and a t shirt that shrunk in the wash just a little. He feels good in it. He’s not an athlete like Sid, but he works hard, and it shows in the strength of his arms and chest. Might as well show off what he has. 

He takes the bus, because his fucking car is in the shop again, and gets off a block before the restaurant and walks the rest of the way. It has fancy round lights strung up outside, and it looks ominously trendy. 

It’s dim and comfortable inside though, all flickering candles in jars and and artfully mismatched furniture. He spots Sid, sitting at a comfortable looking booth in the back, staring at his phone and chewing on his lip. He’s got on a black v-neck that shows his collarbones and glints of his necklace. He spots Zhenya when he’s halfway over to the table, and his entire body seems to light up as he straightens up and  _ beams _ at Zhenya. 

“Hi,” he says, a little breathlessly, as Zhenya slides into the seat opposite him. Zhenya’s tongue feels heavy and useless in his mouth. 

The words he really wants to say are all in Russian and all highly inappropriate.  _ “I’ve only met you three times and I missed you these last few weeks so much it hurt _ ,” “ _ I dreamt about your mouth last night _ ,” or “ _ You look so beautiful that I want to kiss you in front of God and the general public of Pittsburgh.” _

“Hi, Sid,” he says instead, and some of what he wants to say must bleed through in his tone, because Sid smiles even wider. 

 

***

 

It’s wonderful. They can’t, of course, be too obvious, but they’re free to talk, and smile at each other, and to tangle their feet together under the table where no one can see. Zhenya isn’t even really sure what he eats, just knows that it’s delicious and involves things like black truffle and braised pork belly and micro greens.  

Zhenya is just teasing Sid gently about his outrageous lying regarding his disinterest in  dessert, when his phone buzzes. 

He tries to ignore it, but it buzzes twice more and he checks it briefly. Only to freeze. 

_ “Alina’s running a fever, where’s your Tylenol? _ ” reads the first text. Then, “S _ he threw up twice, _ ” and “ _ She might need a doctor, I’m not sure _ .”  

“What's wrong?” Sid asks, concerned. 

“Sitter,” Zhenya answers. “Alina is sick. Say she have fever and throw up, maybe need doctor.” 

“Shit,” Sid says, and waves a server over for the check. “Don’t worry about it, you should go take care of her. 

“I’m take bus,” Zhenya says bleakly. “Won’t be here again for an hour.” 

“I’ll take you,” Sid says, tone brooking no argument. “We can stop by a CVS if you need to, on the way. Or I’ll take you after we see what she needs.”

“Please,” Zhenya says, and he’s so worried he doesn’t even feel nervous about the fact that Sidney Crosby is going to drive him to his rundown apartment building. 

 

***

 

Sid’s car is like a spaceship inside, quiet and sleek. Sid goes on about it being a Tesla and how it’s good for the environment and how the carbon footprint is small and Zhenya recognizes that he’s trying to keep Zhenya from freaking out. His voice is calm and even, and Zhenya thinks distantly that this must be how he talks to rookies so nervous for their first game in the NHL that they feel like puking. 

He calls Ylena, his sitter, from inside the pharmacy, getting the rundown of Alina’s symptoms as he strides through the aisles, Sid following along behind. The guy behind the counter gapes at them as Zhenya hurriedly pays. 

“Can I have your autograph?” he says, and Sid winces.

“Any other time,” he says. “He’s got a sick kid at home and I’m his ride.” He nods towards Zhenya.

“Yeah man, sorry,” the man says, contrite.

“Come to one of our practices,” Sid calls over his shoulder as they leave. “I’ll make sure to get you then.”

“Sorry about that,” he grimaces, as they buckle their seatbelts. 

“Is okay, Sid,” Zhenya says. “Thank you for—” for putting us first, he wants to say.

“Of course,” Sid says simply as he puts the car in gear and backs out of the parking space.

 

***

 

It feels like an eon later when Zhenya clatters up his apartment stairs, Sid on his heels. His hands fumble for his keys and he shouts for Ylena as soon as he’s in the door. 

She comes into the living room with Alina in her arms. 

“ _ Papa _ ,” Alina sobs weakly, and Zhenya gathers her in.

_ “Hi baby _ ,” he soothes. “ _ I’m here. I’m right here _ .” 

“ _ What the fuck, _ ” Ylena says. Probably in response to Sid. 

_ “Your money’s on the counter in an envelope, _ ” he tells her distractedly. “ _ And you’re not telling anyone you saw him here.”  _

“ _ Got it _ ,” she says, and she must leave, but all of Zhenya’s attention is taken up with checking Alina all over and rummaging through the CVS bag one-handedly. 

 

***

 

Alina’s definitely unwell, but it’s not bad enough for a doctor, according to what Sid looks up on his phone about children and fevers. Zhenya takes her in the bathroom to give her a cool sponge bath, then finds her a new set of pajamas. She gets down the Tylenol, and Zhenya sits with her as she falls back asleep, stroking her hair. He’s almost forgotten that Sid’s still there, when he says softly, from the doorway of Alina’s room, “Can I do anything else?” 

Zhenya blinks up at him. “No, thank you. Sorry this happen.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Sid says, and leans against the door frame. Then, after a moment: “It’s hard to see her feeling sick. She’s such a firecracker, usually.” 

“She almost never sick,” Zhenya says. “Strong.”

“Yeah,” Sid says, and his voice is gentle and fond. Zhenya looks at him, silhouetted by the light in the hall. Looks at him and tries to wrestle the feelings thrashing around in his chest into something manageable and safe.

 

***

 

Sid follows him into the kitchen when he goes there to wash his hands and put away the medicine. It’s dim, just the light over the stove on. Sid looks at the photos and drawings hanging all over the fridge, and smiles. 

“I like your house,” he says. “It feels...lived in. An actual home, not only a place you just sleep in at night.” It’s too much, and before he quite knows what he’s doing, Zhenya ends up crowding Sid up against the counter. 

“Sid,” he says, brushing his fingers along Sid’s cheek and the sharp line of his jaw. His heart’s in his throat, and, yet once again, the words won’t come. 

“Yeah,” Sid breathes, and it’s enough. 

Zhenya kisses him. He means to keep it chaste, but Sid moans, and opens his mouth under Zhenya’s. Zhenya licks into the heat of it, and pulls Sid to him with one arm, leaving the other hand free to slide into Sid’s hair. Sid pulls away, but only to move to Zhenya’s neck.

“Fuck,” Sid gasps between kisses littering Zhenya’s throat..”You have— no idea— none— about what you do to me.” 

“If is like what you do to  _ me _ ,” Zhenya manages. “Then I’m know.” 

Sid sighs, and tucks his head under Zhenya’s chin, holding tightly onto him. “You’re amazing,” Sid says, muffled, into Zhenya’s shirt. “You’re gorgeous and you’re funny and you work so hard and you’re so, so amazing to watch with her, with your daughter. It’s everything—” he stills, and Zhenya just strokes his hand up and down Sid’s broad, strong back, waiting. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.  _ You’re _ everything I’ve ever wanted.” 

“Sid,” Zhenya chokes out, before letting his hands and his kisses say what his words won’t. 

 

***

 

They stop before things go too far. Zhenya has a sick child in the next room, and this is only their first date. But Zhenya walks Sid out, and leans in through his car window to press a final kiss to his lips. 

“See you again soon?” he has to ask.

“I really, really hope so,” Sid says. “Soon.” 

 

***

 

They take things slow. They’d have done so even if circumstances hadn’t demanded it. There’s their schedules and Alina to consider, and not least of all, for Zhenya, the potential complications of dating someone famous and far wealthier than he. With almost any other man, he thinks, the balance of power in their relationship would have been extremely lopsided. Sid, though, is so good at helping Zhenya feel comfortable. They talk about it, across a Starbucks table in the early hours of the morning before Sid has to leave on a flight and Zhenya needs to show up for work. Zhenya does his best to explain to Sid how he feels, and Sid does his best to listen. 

Sid’s funny about his net worth. To him, it’s almost an incidental byproduct of his dream: playing the sport he loves for a living. He appreciates that it can do things like pay for his sister’s university or his parent’s retirement, or the bills he racks up at Whole Foods, and that Zhenya gently ribs him for. But he grew up without all of it, and his parents continue to set an example, living in the same nondescript house that Sidney grew up in as a child. 

Zhenya’s known, does know, more keen financial insecurity than Sidney’s ever had, though. And they talk about it. Zhenya feels ashamed that he can’t take Sidney to the same places Sidney takes him to, and he feels bad about the reasons he does like Sidney’s money. 

“Makes me feel guilty,” he tells Sid. “But, it make me feel better, your money. Know if anything bad happen to Alina or me, you are there. But I’m feel bad for think this.” 

Sidney tilts his head, considering. “I get that,” he says slowly. “But you don’t need to feel bad about that. I like that it makes you feel more secure. I like that I can offer that. It’s part of me, who I am, what I do. And what’s it worth, anyway, if I have all of this money and I can’t use it on the people I care about? Give my mom and dad a nice vacation. Get Taylor new goalie pads. Take my boyfriend—” the label is still new and he pauses and smiles just in saying it. “Take my boyfriend out somewhere nice when we’re both exhausted from a fucking long week.” 

“Charity. Little Penguins,” Zhenya says, smiling back at him and feeling hopelessly fond. 

“Little Penguins,” Sidney echoes, and Zhenya loves the way his eyes crinkle when he grins like that. “Best investment ever. Got me you, in a way, didn’t it?” 

And Zhenya doesn’t know what to do with himself when Sid says things like that. 

 

***

 

Alina’s hero worship of Sid wears off as a result of repeated exposure, and it’s replaced with an affection that almost worries Zhenya. It’s going to crush her, if this doesn’t work out between them. 

One way they handle both Sid’s notoriety and Zhenya’s hang ups about having money spent on him is by staying in a lot. They trade off between Sid’s gleaming kitchen and Zhenya and Alina’s tiny one. It’s heaven either way, Zhenya can’t help but think, looking around him. Alina is parked on top of Sid’s granite countertop, babbling away to him, while Sid, who’s the better cook between himself and Zhenya, works at the stove, turning frequently to acknowledge what Alina’’s saying to him. Zhenya is relegated to chopping and dishwashing duties, and is self-appointed kitchen DJ. Sid and Alina don’t always  _ agree _ with the music he queues up, but it’s not their fault they’re such philistines. How has he raised such a daughter, honestly. Sid and his daughter laugh, and Zhenya just has to go up and loop his arms around Sid from behind. He hooks his chin over Sid’s shoulder and smiles at Alina.

“What’s so funny?” he asks her. 

“Your FACE!” she shrieks, and dissolves into giggles. 

“Sid,” he mock-complains. “Terrible, so rude. You teach her this, hmm? Sidney Crosby teach her chirp her own father?” 

Sid laughs and leans back into Zhenya. He feels so solid and warm and  _ right _ . “Haven’t you heard? I’m considered an excellent role model for the youth.” 

“Sure, sure,” Zhenya pretends to grumble. “Now let me taste.” He and Sid tussle for the wooden spoon and Alina laughs and laughs. 

In the car on the way home, Zhenya is pretty sure Alina’s asleep, until she murmurs tiredly,  _ “You laugh a lot with Sid. All the time. I like it. I hope we can stay with Sid forever.” _ The road in front of Zhenya blurs for a moment.

_ “Yes, baby,” _ he say.  _ “Me too.”  _

 

_ *** _

 

It takes a while before Zhenya spends the night. The sitter’s got Alina, and he and Sid have Sid’s place to themselves for nearly the first time ever. Zhenya has Sid up against the wall as soon as the front door shuts behind him.

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you,” Sid gasps, lips red and hair standing on end from where Zhenya’s fingers have raked through it. He looks well and thoroughly kissed, and Zhenya’s only getting started. 

“Oh?” Zhenya asks, eyebrow raised. 

“Fine, fine, mutual wreckage,  _ come on _ , Zhenya, take me to  _ bed _ ,” Sid begs, eyes dark and wild with want. And Zhenya does. 

 

***

 

After, with the moonlight falling through the windows and Sid’s slow breathing, and the warmth of him wrapped in Zhenya’s arms, Zhenya is almost too happy to sleep. But when he does, it’s the best sleep he’s had in what feels like forever. 

 

***

 

Sid has games right up until Christmas. He gets Zhenya and Alina tickets to the last game before the holidays, a home game against Anaheim on the 23rd. Sid, with a great deal of faux casualness, lets Zhenya know that his parents and sister are flying out for Christmas, would Zhenya like to meet them, no pressure, if he doesn’t have plans, you know, et cetera, et cetera. 

Zhenya shakes his head and smiles. He can’t say he’s not quite frankly, nauseous at the idea of meeting Sid’s parents, but of course he wants to. As the months have passed, he’s only fallen more hopelessly in love with Sid. Of course he wants to meet his family. 

He works most of the day on Christmas Eve, but he and Alina are headed over to Sid’s in the evening. He painstakingly braids Alina’s hair “the fancy way.” She seems to register his nerves and she is uncharacteristically quiet as they pull into Sid’s driveway. The house is lit up with lights, more cars than usual in the driveway.  

Alina’s all dolled up in a velvet dress with a lace collar that Zhenya’s mother sent her, and she had been excited to show it off but now she clings close as he rings the doorbell. 

Sid opens it, smiling wide. He brings them in, exclaiming over Alina’s dress before reaching up to unwind Zhenya’s scarf and kiss him hello. 

Over Sid’s shoulder, Zhenya spies three people peering into the hall. He recognizes them from photos. Sid’s sister is grinning at them and his mother looks hesitantly pleasant, but his father is scowling. 

“This is Evgeni, and this is Alina,” Sid says, happiness in his voice. Big as she is now, he’s picked Alina up and she’s hiding her face in his neck. 

“Alina. Say hi,” Zhenya says, feeling bad. She’s not usually so shy with new people. 

“Hello,” she says, and tucks her face back into Sid’s neck. Sid and Zhenya share a look, and Sid pats her back. 

“Let’s have dinner, ok?” he says

 

***

 

Dinner is pretty nice, actually. Taylor Crosby is a sweetheart, and she’s got Alina giggling and enthusing about her last hockey game. Trina is kind, and seems happy that her son is happy. She asks Zhenya about his family and he’s glad to tell her about his mama and papa. 

“Is hard, not seeing them,” he tells her. “But wanted better life for Alina. Thought maybe more chance for her, here. Not much for future in Magnitogorsk.” Trina’s eyes go soft. 

“I know the feeling,” she says, and Zhenya has to think of them sending Sid off to school to get him away from the bullying in Nova Scotia. 

Troy remains mostly silent, until after dinner when they’re sitting in the living room with glasses of wine for the adults and cocoa for Alina. 

“So. Evgeni,” he says abruptly, and Zhenya is almost relieved that he’s finally getting to whatever he’s been wanting to say all evening. 

“You’re a hockey fan, are you?” and there’s a layer of accusation there. Zhenya can read his meaning loud and clear. Zhenya can understand his concern. He’s worried Zhenya is some kind of sycophantic gold digger. 

Zhenya carefully sets down his glass, as he thinks about how to respond. 

“Dad—” Sid starts to say, but Zhenya just shakes his head, ever so slightly, and Sid holds his peace. 

“I’m play hockey before. In Magnitogorsk,” Zhenya tells Troy, looking him straight in the eye. “For Metallurg, in Russian Superleague.”

“Is that so,” Troy says. Zhenya nods. 

“Play for Russia at Worlds in 2003. Was at 2004 World Juniors,” Zhenya says. Sid is gaping at him. 

“Zhenya, what the f—  _ I _ was at the 2004 World Juniors. In Helsinki, not  Hameenlinna, but—how do I not know this?” 

Zhenya closes his eyes for a moment. He feels someone touch his hand, and he opens his eyes to meet Alina’s solemn ones. He smiles at her in reassurance. 

“Very… hard to talk about, for me,” he says. “Car accident was February. Month after. Was going to be drafted, maybe, in June.” Sid sucks in a breath. He does know about the car accident that fucked up Zhenya’s knee. “So, to answer question. Hockey in blood. Love because Alina love, love because Sid love, but no, not love for me.” He hopes that makes sense. 

“How did you guys meet?” Taylor says gently. He could hug her for the subject change. 

“Alina,” Zhenya answers, smiling at the memory. “She play with Little Penguins, get gear. One day she come to me all yelling about Sidney Crosby gonna sign things at a store. She tell me she has to go, say thank you for gear.”

“Polite!” Alina interjects defensively, before snuggling back into Sid’s side and hiding her face in his sweater. 

“Oh goodness,” Trina says, and she looks charmed. 

“Can’t get off work in time, know we probably can’t see Sid. But she ask and ask, so we go. And line is too long. So we gonna leave, but Alina see lady with Penguins—” Zhenya gestures at his neck.

“Badge?” Sid supplies, and Zhenya smiles at him.

“Alina see, she run over before I can stop, ask if lady can please tell Sidney Crosby thank you for skates and gear for her. Lady is smiling, she say if we can wait little bit, maybe extra poster with signature left over.” 

“Oh my God,” says Taylor, clearly enjoying the hell out of the story.

“Lady say her name is Jennifer Bullano, very bossy.”

Sid sniggers into his wine glass. “Sounds like Jen.” 

“She take us to room, tell us wait. Little bit later, in walk Sidney Crosby. Everyone very surprise.” 

“For sure,” Sid says, and he smiles at Zhenya, warm and fond. 

“Talk little bit, Alina get to say thank you. We leave. I’m happy he is so nice to my daughter. He’s important guy, doesn’t have to do this after long day.” Zhenya’s watching Sid now, enjoying the blush spreading across his face. He can’t wait to get to the next part of the story and make him even pinker.

“Then, little bit later, at mite game, watching Alina play. Suddenly, Sidney Crosby show up. ‘In neighborhood,’ he say,” Zhenya says, and grins. 

“Oh, you didn’t,” Taylor squeals gleefully. “Really, Squid?  _ Really _ ?” 

“Shut up,” Sid mutters, and glares at her.

“He give us tickets to game, talk to us after. Like my Metallurg jersey, I’m think.“

“Zhenya,” Sid groans into his hands. “Wait, let  _ me _ tell the next part. Alina then informs me that she heard you tell your brother on the phone that I was p—” he pauses, realizing he is just about to call himself “pretty” in front of his parents. “Good-looking. So. I asked you out.” 

Zhenya thinks he’s just as red as Sid now. 

Taylor throws her head back and laughs. Her laugh is a much less dorky version of Sid’s. “This is amazing. Practically a Hallmark movie.”

“I think it’s very sweet,” Trina say. Troy says nothing, but he looks less like a thunderstorm as he sips his wine so Zhenya counts that as a win. 

 

***

 

Zhenya and Alina stay the night. Zhenya holds Sid close and watches the icicle lights hanging from the eaves sparkle through the blinds. 

He wants this, all the time, so badly it hurts.

 

***

On an incredibly rare day in February, miracle of miracles, Zhenya and Sid both have the day off on a Saturday. Sid calls Zhenya in a state of excitement. 

“Let’s take Alina somewhere together,” he says, and Zhenya is touched that Sid seems so excited to all go somewhere, regardless of the risk of exposure. 

The zoo on a Saturday is well, a zoo, so they opt for the slightly calmer environs of the National Aviary. Alina is beside herself at the prospect of actual penguins. Zhenya is hoping there are ducks or parrots that you’re allowed to feed. 

They have a wonderful time. Sid wears a hat worn low and they able to move around without attracting too much attention. Zhenya can’t hold his hand the way he’d want to, not without creating the necessity for a press conference, but Sid and he walk close, shoulders, brushing, and Alina switches between holding Sid’s hand, and Zhenya’s.

At the flamingo exhibit, Zhenya gets distracted by their reflection in the glass. They’re leaning on the railing together, Alina between them. Sid’s smiling down at her as she points and chatters about some story she’s made up about the adventures the flamingos have visiting the penguins after the Aviary closes. 

 

They look like a family. 

 

***

 

Playoffs hit them like a freight train. Sid’s exhausted and worn thin, although he tries not to let it show. Zhenya lovingly bullies him into dropping the act when they’re alone together, and Sid lets himself slump onto Zhenya in weariness. 

“I wish...” Sid says one night. He’s stretched on the couch, head in Zhenya’s lap. Alina’s sprawled on the living room floor, quietly playing out a complicated saga involving Little Ponies and Legos. 

“What you wish, Sid?” Zhenya asks gently. He feels like he knows what Sid is going to say. He wants it too.

“Wish we could...”

“Be like this all the time?” Zhenya finishes for him. He strokes his fingers through Sid’s hair, letting himself think about it. Thinks about how his job has only been getting more grueling, and how his boss has been making more and more noise about changes to Zhenya’s schedule that would mean even less time with Alina and Sid. That’s not the life he wants for her. Or for himself. And Sid’s breaking himself to pieces over the playoff run. Zhenya aches to support him better. To be able to give him more evenings like this one. Heaven knows everyone loves having someone to come home to. He’s always had Alina. Sid didn’t have anyone, before. And gradually, Zhenya’s realized how wretchedly lonely Sid used to be.

“Yes,” Sid finally answers, softly. He’s watching Alina play, and he reaches up to thread his fingers through Zhenya’s, awkward angles be damned. 

“I would never—” he starts. 

Ask me, Zhenya thinks. Ask.

“I wouldn’t ask you to, you know, give up your independence? To be my househusband or something. But—I’ve got so much fucking money, Zhenya. I could support—  And I miss you so much, all the time. I never thought I could miss anyone the way I miss you even when we’ve only been apart a few days. I mean, you could do anything, take the time to find a job you actually like, or go back to school, or—”

He’s been growing more agitated and tense as the words come faster and faster, and he’s half sitting up now. Zhenya huffs out a laugh and pushes Sid’s head back down into Zhenya’s lap. Sid lets him, but his body is still locked tight with tension. 

“Sid. Love you so much. Miss you too. I also want. Have more time for you, for Alina.” He echoes his previous thoughts: “Not life I’m want for her, too busy to be with her. Or you.”

“Move in with me,” Sid says, clutching at Zhenya’s knee.

“Yes,” Zhenya replies, leaning down to kiss Sid’s hair. 

 

***

 

When the Pens win their second cup in a row, Zhenya and Alina are both in the crowd. Sid had refused to talk hypotheticals in case of jinxes, so Zhenya hangs back a little when the other families flood onto the ice, unsure of what he should do. Meet up with Sid off ice, away from the news cameras?

“Come on,” Vero Larosee says to him. “He’ll want you down there with him. Trust me.”

 

***

 

“Zhenya! Babe, we did it!” Sid screams into his ear. He’d skated over and thrown his arms around Zhenya’s neck as soon as he’d seen him. He picks Alina up, and puts her on his shoulders. There are camera flashes all around them, but the incandescence of Sid’s euphoric joy is brighter than all of them. Alina grips his sweaty hair and whoops as he spins her in a circle. When Sid comes to a stop, he’s staring at Zhenya. He leans in towards him.

“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” he says, low enough for only Zhenya to hear. 

“Then do it,” Zhenya says. “Do it, if you ready.” 

“I am,” Sid says, and kisses him, Alina screaming happily above them, grabbing at both of their hair.

 

 

 

  
  
  
  


 

 

[Excerpt]

 

_ Alina Malkina-Crosby has exactly the kind of calmly confident presence and steady maturity you’d expect from the the first woman to shatter the male bastion that has been the NHL thus far. _

_ She’s even pragmatic about the accusations of nepotism that are constantly laid against her, ever since she first petitioned for a spot on an all-male major juniors team.  _

_ “Dad’s name carries weight, it’s true. You can’t avoid that,” she told me. “But the thing is, my hockey genes aren’t even his, they're my papa’s,” referring to her biological father, former KHL prospect Evgeni Malkin-Crosby. “And someone needs to be first. If Dad’s name helps open the door for me, I plan on doing my best to take it off the hinges on my way through. There're are so many amazingly talented female hockey players out there.” She says this without cockiness, just with serious awareness of the onerous task before her.  _

_ Aside from her adoptive father’s influence, the other thing everyone seems to ask her about is her choice of name to compete under.  _

_ “Alina Malkin,” she says, determinedly, foregoing even the traditional Russian feminizing of the surname. “My papa should have lit up the League, but he was robbed of that chance. I want a Malkin to skate on NHL ice.” She pauses, overcome with emotion. “My papa sacrificed everything for me. Brought me to America, worked himself ragged trying to make sure I had everything I wanted. Supporting my dreams, and never making me feel like they were anything less than achievable. I want this for him. Dad agrees completely,” she adds with a laugh. “We talked it over before I even told Papa. And then we told Papa and he cried.” _

_ I asked her what her siblings plan to do.  _

_ Twins Julia and Alexei plan on sticking with a hyphenated “Malkin-Crosby,” she tells me. Julia is currently making waves as a goalie for the Cape Breton Screaming Eagles, while her brother is racking up points as a forward for his father’s old team, Rimouski Océanic.  _

_ And what about the youngest of the Crosby-Malkin clan? She’s known to be named after her godfather, former Penguins goalie and Hall of Famer Marc-André Fleury. Is she interested in following in her namesake’s footsteps? _

_ “Absolutely not,” Alina laughs. “Marcia’s planning to study journalism in college. It’s  your job she’s gunning for.” _

_ Bring it on, I say. The Crosby-Malkins are coming, and the NHL is never going to be the same.  _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [werebear ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werebear/). As always, couldn't have done it without you.
> 
> Title is from "Light of A Clear Blue Morning," originally by Dolly Parton. I especially love, though, the [acapella cover ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-UK7iNJgNo/) the Wailing Jennys did of it. Bonus: they're Canadian. 
> 
> You can find me as [creaturesofnarrative ](http://creaturesofnarrative.tumblr.com/) (main) and [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) (hockey blog) on Tumblr, and as @RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi and cry with me about how hockey both real and fictional has eaten our lives.


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